One
by Redqueen-01
Summary: “One is the saddest experience you’ll ever know”. A look into the mind of Neo before, during and after the Matrix Trilogy.
1. Apartment 101

**"One" Part I: ****Apartment**** 101******

Summary:  "One is the saddest experience you'll ever know".  A look into the mind of Neo before, during and after the Matrix Trilogy.

A/N:  "Apartment 101" is the first in a series of vignettes that will make up this fic "One".  This section is set before the first Matrix film, also titled "A day in the life of a dork" 

A/N 2:  This entire fic was inspired by the song "One", originally by Three Dog Night, covered by John Farnham.  It's just a cool song and I thought I'd plug it.

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_"One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do    
One is the saddest experience you'll ever know""_

- _"One" -  Three Dog Night  
  
  
_

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Routine.   

Awakened by alarm.  Hit snooze.  Sleep in.  Wake up again.  Shit.  Fumble for clothes.  Check clock.  Shit.  Search for keys.  Double shit.  Realise you catch the bus to work.  Triple shit.  Arrive late.  Get summoned to management.  Curse inwardly.  Look apologetic.  Get chewed out nonetheless.  Spend day in death-trap, otherwise known as cubicle.  Escape to park for lunch.  Sit alone.  Return to drudgery.  Home again.  Switch on computer.  Search.  Search.  Search.  Watch t.v.  Search.  Eat.  Search.  Fall asleep at computer.  Awakened by alarm.

Day in, day out.

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Thomas Anderson hated monotony.  

After 33 years, the days had begun to bleed into one another.  

He'd awaken to the insistent beeping of his alarm, every day promising himself he would change the tone, but then realising the time, file it away for later.  Then, of course, he always forgot.  

Every morning was a struggle to get himself ready on time.  Every day he fought a war with his apartment, searching for that lost shoe, watch or tie that somehow never seemed to be in the place he had left it the previous night.  His suit was always crumpled, and it didn't quite fit him properly, but Thomas had decided long ago that he didn't give a shit.  It wasn't like he had anyone to impress, anyway.  

He didn't own a car, too much hassle.  Even though catching the bus guaranteed being seated near people of questionable character and hygiene, he didn't care.  He didn't bother anyone and these people had the courtesy to offer him the same respect.  It was at the office he had to endure the arduous tasks of conversation.  

"Hey, Anderson!"  a colleague, Geoff, or Peter, or Mark would call, and he would cringe inwardly.  It was almost a game, a task he set himself every morning to see how far he could get into the office without being disturbed.  He'd set a new record today, only five feet from his desk.  So close, yet so, so far.   

"Hey" he would reply, half-heartedly, gazing at his cubicle with longing.

"You catch the game last night, Anderson?"

"Uh, no…I – "

"Well you missed out big time, buddy!  The Sentinels were on fire!  Falco made a…."

It was usually at this point Thomas tuned out, occasionally nodding his head, giving a forced "Oh really?" every now and then.  But then, his colleagues were not the most observant men alive, and therefore never noticed his indifference to all things socially popular.  He didn't pride himself on his knowledge of football, except for that one time in college when he'd hacked into the system and fucked around a little with it. 

If he was lucky, an equally sporting-minded worker would join the conversation and grant him a reprieve.  In his cubicle, he would begin the day, praying that no one had noticed his arrival time, which was more often then not horribly late.  He was forever thankful that he seemed to be the type of person who would fade into the background.                   

Riding the elevator was often the highlight of his working day.  The silence, with the exception of the soft hum of a fluorescent light, welcomed him.  Accepted him with the mechanical shutting of the doors.  Unless of course he had the misfortune to share the elevator.  Forced to impart some of his domain to whoever had invaded his quiet contemplation.  The office and the outside world was alien to him, but the elevator – the elevator was his.  He didn't ask for much, just that small three by four square of metal floor.  

101 was his apartment at the end of the hall, a beacon of light at the end of a long day.  But then he saw his landlady struggling with her garbage, overflowing with tissues, newspaper and assorted food products.  Every week he considered just walking past, into the shelter of his room and letting the woman fend for herself, but then instinct kicked in.  

"Can I help you with that, Mrs Johannsen?"

He was always rewarded with a pat on the arm, since her height barely reached his shoulder, and a friendly smile.

"Thank you Thomas, always such a gentleman.  Have you found yourself a nice young lady yet?"

The conversation was always the same, as constant as the heat that crept to his cheeks.  He would always stutter out an excuse before he carried the garbage downstairs.  He hadn't brought anyone back to his apartment in what seemed like years.  Always too nervous to approach someone, always too unnerved when approached.  

Once enclosed within the safety of his small, musty room, relief came to him.  The walls were toned with green and grey, a thicket of technology, but at least here he could be alone.  The computer was the first thing to be flicked on, followed by the tv and music.  A beer would be pulled from the six pack he had purchased on the way home and a bowl of Capt'n Crunch fixed.  He briefly considered tidying the apartment, removing the endless chocolate wrappers and Chinese take-out containers, but decided against it.  Recalled his father's obsessive notion that his room was never clean enough.  Fuck it.  This was his apartment and he didn't want it to be clean, sterile and smelling of bleach.  Not when there were more important matters at hand.    

In "The Matrix", the exclusive hacker hangout, Thomas always observed but never participated. 

JACKON:  I heard Morpheus has been on this board.

SUPERASTIC:  Morpheus doesn't even exist and the Matrix is nothing but an advertising gimmick for a new game.

TIMAXE:  All I want to know is Trinity really a girl?

LODIII:  87% of all women on line are really men.

QUARK:  The Matrix is a euphemism for the government.

SUPERASTIC:  No, The Matrix is the system controlling our lives.

TIMAXE:  You mean MTV.

SUPERASTIC:  I mean Sega.

FOS4:  ALL HAIL SEGA!!!

Fuckin' idiots didn't know shit_. _

Information on Morpheus was becoming scarce.  It wasn't that there was a lack of articles, reports and police files on him…it was more that there was very little Thomas had not already seen.  There was a solitary photo of him, dark face hidden by even darker glasses.  A strong face.  A leader.  This man.  This man had the answers.  

Of Trinity, however, there was nothing.  No photo, no descriptions.  Just a trail of achievements.  As a hacker his reputation was unparalleled, except maybe by Morpheus.  And somehow, Thomas knew that by finding one, he would inevitably find the other.

"Hey Tommy-boy!  Open up!"

Not the most pleasant sound to awaken him from his reverie, although that particular voice was often acquainted with cash, which caused Thomas to open the door instead of employ his usual policy of ignorance.  As suspected, it was Choi.

"Hey man, knew you'd be home.  Let's face it, where else is a stud like you going to be?".  Choi, as usual, was not alone, Dujour hanging off his arm like an accessory.         

"What do you need, Choi?"

"I'm desperate, man. The shackles of fascism…they've got me".

Thomas listened, as he did to all of Choi's tirades.  Surprisingly, when Choi was finished, the appendage on his arm spoke.

"You can really get that for us?"

"Hey…Tommy here might look like just another geek but he's all we got left standing between Big Brother and the New World Order"

Thomas sighed.

"Thanks.  I'll have it done in a few days".     

Back into the darkness.  Back to the questions, the plagued thoughts, the restlessness.

_What is The Matrix?_

Even in sleep he was denied a respite.  Dreams plagued his consciousness, to the point where he found himself loathe to sleep at all.     

He saw himself clad in black, dusty and broken.  Dead.  Numerous bullet wounds perforated his chest as he slid against the wall and down, down onto the floor.  Heard his own heart give out and the sound of a flatline.  Saw his life bleed out of him slowly, with no hope of reprieve.

And in his dreams, his blood was green.

A/N:  The Hacker conversation and the Choi/Neo interaction was shamelessly stolen from the 1996 Matrix shooting script, for no other reason than I'm an extremely lazy person.  Don't kill me, I changed it a little.  Well, not really.  But at least I'm referencing.  I would put a link to it here but ff.net won't let me.  I'll put a link in my bio if anyone is interested.


	2. Last Supper

"**One" Part II:  ****Last Supper**

Summary:  "One is the saddest experience you'll ever know".  A look into the mind of Neo before, during and after the Matrix Trilogy.

A/N:  Set during the first Matrix.  Also, I have no idea how to spell "be-jezus" – thought I'd get that out of the way now.

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_"When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake"_

- _'Fight Club'_

_*****************************************************************_

Neo couldn't sleep.  Having hardly slept in his life in the Matrix, he didn't know why he assumed these patterns would change in the Real World.  He was always searching for answers back them, his mind buzzing with too many questions.  _What is the Matrix?  _And now he knew.  But sleep still refused to come to him.  It was almost as if he was still searching for those elusive answers, although he had no idea how he would find them when he didn't even know the question.  

So he wandered though the Neb, in an effort to keep his mind occupied.  To distract himself with something…anything.  He had been successful with this notion during the days, when the Neb was buzzing with activity.  Tank uploading every form of combat known to man into his brain, sparring with the crew in the Construct.  And when he was not plugged in, making a nuisance of himself in an effort to help in the more manual tasks undertaken on the ship, which continually seemed to be falling apart.  Dozer had spent the entire afternoon patiently helping Neo fix the generator, or rather, cleaning up after his mistakes.  The gentle nature of the man still amazed Neo.  Dozer's physical presence reminded him of the bullies that used to beat him up after school, but he had such a kind disposition, such a tolerance of Neo's ineptitude that it was impossible to fear or dislike the gentle giant.  

Now Switch, on the other hand, scared the shit out of him.  She looked on him with an undisguised sense of contempt, and Neo simply couldn't erase the image of the gun she had held to his head.  Neo didn't know why he angered her so, not when most of the other crew seemed wary of him, but welcoming.  Mouse had been flittering around him ever since he had beaten Morpheus in the dojo, like a kid brother wanting to play with the big boys.  Apoc had been amicable, but seemed rather amused by Switch's apparent disgust.  Tank, was…well, Tank seemed to be the most cheerful person Neo had ever met.  Despite being a freeborn, he was filled to the brim with cult matrix knowledge, which he supposed came from watching the Matrix like most coppertops watched tv.  The two of them had had quite a lengthy conversation over old television shows, the ones Neo had spent many a sleepless night watching on the free cable he had acquired through less than honest means.

Eventually finding himself in the Core, Neo pulled the blanket more firmly around his shoulders as he approached the figure in the Operators chair.  Transfixed by the green code, endless rain across a darkened sky, he deftly moved across the floor.

"Whoa!  Neo!"

He jumped at Cypher's voice, so mesmerized by the screens.  Shit, he hadn't meant to startle him. 

"You scared the be-jezus out of me" 

All Neo could do was mumble an apology as he watched Cypher type in commands and the screens fade to black.  He briefly wondered why this was necessary, seeing as he had no idea how to read what had been contained on them, but he assumed it was probably details of the ship's mission, something a newbie like him was not privy to.  Now all that remained were the larger, central screens with the code, the glaring green contrasting sharply with the Neb's soft blue metal.

"Is that…"

"The Matrix?  Yeah"

Neo furrowed his brow, looking more closely at the screens

"Do you always look at it encoded?"

"Well you have to.  The image translators work for the Construct program…but there's way too much information to decode the Matrix.  You get used to it…I don't even see the code.  All I see is blonde…brunette…redhead"

Neo didn't quite know what to make of Cypher.  On the surface, he was amiable, making off the cuff comments in a cynical tone that was almost refreshing after Morpheus' long tirades.  But under that cheshire cat smile,   
Neo could sense something.  He wasn't quite sure what it was, wasn't even sure if he could trust his instincts so fresh to this world.  There was an undercurrent of bitterness to Cypher, although it didn't usually show in his features, which were usually all teeth.  But it was there.  Neo could feel it ever time he had his back turned, an acidity to Cypher's gaze that was unnerving.  But he would dismiss such thoughts, tell himself that he didn't know anything, he certainly didn't know how to read people, how to make accurate judgements on them.  He wasn't used to living in such close proximity to others, he reasoned, and was never really good at the social thing anyway.  So Neo rejected all misgivings and resolved to stop thinking so much.  It gave him a headache.  It was probably a good thing, too, because Cypher was speaking again.

"I know what you're thinking, cause right now I'm thinking the same thing.  Why oh why didn't I take the blue pill?"

Yeah, you could say Neo liked Cypher.  He saw in him a part of his own doubts and fears.  The part of him that wished he was back in his dingy little apartment, eating Chinese food – god he missed noodles – where his bed actually had a decent mattress and his favourite music played in a loop.  However, that part of him was miniscule, and thoughts of the Matrix were easy to quash.  

Returning to watching the screens, Neo squinted.  For a second there, he had almost seen the symbols and code take shape, but was distracted by Cypher offer of a drink.  They had alcohol here?  It probably wasn't anything like the cheap beer he had consumed in the silence of his apartment, but he accepted nonetheless.  Ever since his unplugging, he had felt an unwavering sense of thirst.  As if the metal and the cold and the stale, thin air were slowly sapping whatever moisture was left in his body.  His mouth was dry, sandpapered, and at night his breath turned white as it hit the air.  It was almost like he was incapable of producing saliva on his own.  During the sleepless nights, he found himself in the mess, guzzling down the cold, faintly metallic water.  But it didn't help.

So Neo accepted the small metal cup from Cypher as he poured from a jug. The tin was hand-made, he could tell, hastily soldered together from different pieces of metal.  On the Neb, even the air was recycled.  

He watched as Cypher gulped down the beverage.  Okay, it seemed safe, Neo reasoned, as he brought the cup to his own lips.

Shit!  Oh, god he was dying.  The burning…some stupid fuck had lit a fire in his mouth.  Suddenly he was thirteen years old again, his first taste of alcohol.  He couldn't remember the circumstances, but he was pretty such that it had been whisky and that his first sip had in fact been a gulp.  Days afterwards, he could still taste the inferno.  Through his induced memory and the violent coughing, Neo could barely feel Cypher's hand on his back or voice in his ear.

"Good shit, eh?  Dozer makes it"

Neo stared at his cup.  There was still some liquid in the bottom that he was strangely tempted to drink.  Didn't know why.  Maybe after the few intensely frosty days in the real world, he needed something to warm him up.  Even if it burned.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure"

It was not his place to deny.

"Did he tell you why he did it?  I mean why you're here?"

Suddenly everything lost taste.  Lost colour.  Lost clarity.  _I believe that search is over.  _All Neo could do was give a slight movement of his head, eyes fixed to the floor.  Always on the floor.

"Jee-zus!  What a mind job"

At the very least.

"So you're here to save the world"

Apparently.

"What do you say to something like that?"

Well, the same thing Neo would say in a situation like this.  Nothing.  He hoped that if he was silent, they would think him an unfitting conversationalist and move on.  He didn't even want to think about what Morpheus had said to him, let alone talk about it.  

"A little piece of advice.  You see and agent, you do what we do…run.  You run your ass off"

Agents.  That day in the construct, a gun had been held to his head, and he had realised the full extent of Morpheus' faith.  Understood that if he was not the One, he would die trying to be.  Which painted a very grim (and short) picture of his future.  Suddenly, Neo felt like being alone, or at least, away from all these questions and "advice".  Taking a final mouthful of the drink, and noticing that the burning was growing less with every taste, he handed the cup back to Cypher.

"Thanks for the drink"

"Sweet dreams"

He left the Core, and once again walked the long hallways to his room.  He was starting to notice the intricacies of the ship, the imperfections in the metal, red-blue wires intertwining, scratches and dents in the doors, the walls.  Her door he knew well.  At each passing he slowed his pace a little, sometimes stopped altogether and stared.  There was a small dent near the bottom right hand side, most probably from a booted kick.  Along the side the metal was melted slightly, perhaps from a stray wire.  The wheel was a perfect circle, much more symmetrical than his own handle.  And there were three short, perfectly parallel scratches just below his eye level.

He knew he couldn't stay long outside her door, couldn't risk her catching him.  He would only allow himself a few minutes of quiet study, of contemplation and 'what-ifs'.  Neo slowly reached upwards with his hand, lightly placing his palm on the cold metal of the door.

And it burned.    


	3. The Bo Tree

**"One" Part III – The Bo Tree**

A/N:  Wow, thanks for all the great reviews *blush*.  This section is set just after the first Matrix.  There's a Dogma reference _and _a Planet of the Apes reference in here if anyone can catch them.  I love stealing from pop culture.  

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_"It is always the same: once you are liberated, you are forced to ask who you are"_

_ - Jean Baudrillard_

_****************************************************************_

It was funny the discrepancies he noticed.  Little things, mostly.  The rigidity of it all, the stern, clinical factor of its design.  The Matrix was an organised mess of parallel lines, grids and boxes.  Straight, unbending and linear.  He'd never noticed it before, but now all he saw were cubes and right angles and perpendicular lines.  Mirrors, windows and building structures all bore the terrible mark of the mind of machine.  

And the sky.  In the Matrix the sky was green, and Neo realised that he had never actually seen the colour blue.  Now of course, it was all he saw.  He wondered if he would ever see the sky – not the blackened, electrified cloud Morpheus had shown him in the Construct – but the real sky.  Blue.  Real, bright,  not the dark hues of metal on the Neb, but rather the colour of Trinity's eyes.           

The water grew firm beneath his feet, almost like glass.  The waves lessened and broke softly, never touching him.  The rain stopped.  His coat would become quite uncomfortable otherwise.  Not that it would really matter anyway, he supposed, he could dry the wool with a thought, had he wanted to.  

It was times like this that Neo felt an overwhelming hopelessness.  Here in the Matrix, he could change whatever he wanted, he could delete agents, stop bullets and fly.  But ultimately, he had no sense of purpose, no great goal towards which he should be striding.  End the war, yes, but how?  He needed direction, he needed someone to tell him what do, since he was never any good at figuring things out on his own.    

Jesus had been given 30 years of acceptance before his mission began.  The Buddha spent seven years contemplating under a Bo tree before reaching enlightenment.  Muhammad received the direct word of God in his Meccan cave.    

The carpenter.  The prince.  The prophet.  And…him.  

He had been given no instruction, no divine path to follow.  Even the Oracle was no help.  She had refused to see him.        

Neo had been spending a great deal of his time in churches, mosques, synagogues, searching for it.  Grand architecture, curving stairwells and stained glass windows towering above the kneeling.  Small shrines of wood and paper, candles and offerings before them.  _Protect us.  The believers said.  ___

Thousands upon thousand of statues he'd studied.  Was this how a saviour was supposed to look?  Tall, thin and thin – gentle eyes and long hair.  Legs crossed, fat and jovial.    Tender hands on the sick, laughing with glee, eyes raised towards heaven…arms outstretched in death?  Would his death be painful, metal forced through skin, bone and flesh?  Perhaps a poisoned mushroom would do the trick.    

_The problem with being a martyr is that you have to die._

Choirs sang in celestial adoration.  He wished he could tear apart the sky for then, show them the code that lay beneath.  No stars, no planets, certainly no sun…just miles of encryption.   

_We are marching, marching, we are marching, marching. _

_We are marching the light of God (the light of God)_

But there was no light.  That every ripple of sunlight, distorted, patterned and coloured through the stained glass was an illusion.  Perhaps they didn't care.         

_Al shlosha al shlosha _

_D'va-rim ha-o-lam ka-yam_

Neo came to understand that some people – most people – needed that.  To believe.    

_Open my eyes, Lord_

_Help me to see your face_

They wanted to see light and beauty and miracles.  They wanted water to change to wine, oil to last impossible amounts of time, they wanted enlightenment to be wonderful and perfect.

_Open my eyes, Lord_

_Help me to see_

All he could show them was death.

He visited private schools, crucifixes on the walls and girls in pleated skirts.  He saw Rabbis playing chess in the park, monks tending to their gardens.  Millions knelling in their morning prayer.      

Would he be a Moses to these people, leading them to the promised land?  But then, Zion already seemed to be the land of milk and honey to most unplugged.  Where he lead them would be metaphorical, parting the Green Sea of code.  Except Moses had never really been much of a leader, he'd heard a priest tell children in a Sunday school class.  In fact, it was Aaron who had done all of Moses' communicating for him.  It seemed Moses had a speech impediment.  How fitting.  Moses was not Charlton Heston. 

_You maniacs.  You blew it up. _

He had spent one day perched atop the Statue of Liberty, legs astride the crown's jutting metal points.  In reality she had probably long been destroyed, explosions rattling through her sturdy frame until she became nothing more than rubble lining the battlefields of the dead.  

And the irony was, Lady Liberty was green.

He'd learnt at a university lecture that the sheltered Siddhartha, when witnessing disease, sickness and death for the first time, lost all joy in living.  

Neo was not so noble.  Not since the night she had come to him.

He hadn't been asleep…he was never asleep.  He'd heard her outside his door, the lights footsteps pacing the corridors.  Eventually, there were three light taps on the metal, three seconds before she opened the door, and three steps towards his bed.  She didn't say anything, she hadn't said anything since he came back to life.  

Then, with the same uncharacteristic confidence that had made him kiss her in the aftermath of the EMP blast, he slowly lifted a section of his blanket.  An invitation.  The next few seconds were death as she made no effort to move from her current position, rigid, firm.  Cool, untouchable ivory, he imagined since he could not see, shadows obscuring her face.  With the agonising pain of rejection he didn't know how to describe, the material slipped through his fingers and his back hit the mattress.  He was bleeding internally, he could feel it.  He imagined his bullet wounds rupturing, his lungs refusing to fill with air.

But then she moved.  Cool fingers rested momentarily on his arm, lying useless at his side, then moved to clutch the blanket, lifting it slightly off his still form.  

He wanted to speak, to say something beautiful and poetic, but found himself unable to form the words.  Why did his senses always desert him when it mattered most?  In the end, though, it didn't matter, given that Trinity showed no inclination to speak herself.  Her gaze was pure, unfettered by passion or lust that he knew would permeate their relationship, given time.  Her eyes were soft, unguarded…watchful.  

She must have been tired, being the only person on the ship in reasonable health meant she had been forced to tend to all three men in the aftermath.  After dressing Tanks wounds, treating the effects of the agent's serum on Morpheus, repairing what she could in the Core while keeping an endless watch for sentinels, she had come to him.  When he was positive she would much rather be in her own room, crashed out in her own bed, she was with him.  Tending to him.  She lay on her side, head propped by one hand, the other gently, almost hesitantly caressing his face, tracing his features from his dark stubble of his hair to his tightly clenched jaw.  Instantly, he felt himself relax, and although he struggled to keep his eyes open, in order to stare into her blue depths for the remainder of the night, he felt his lids grow heavy and close.  

He slept.

Neo could feel her now, she was on the shore, waiting for him.  It was time to go.  He could spend seven years out here, contemplating and worrying and planning.  But there simply wasn't enough time.      

When he reached her side, Neo instinctively reached out a hand to rest on her waist.  Although their first night in the same bed had been the picture of chastity, he had long since developed a taste for the more passionate.  After the solitude of the past few hours, the shape her lips were an invitation he couldn't ignore.  However, it surprised him greatly when his lips came into contact with the soft skin her cheek.  She had never rejected him before.  The pain must have been written all over his face because her fingers reached up to gently brush his jaw.  He tried to read her eyes, but they were obscured by her sunglasses.  

"It's not you, just…not here"

Oh.

The warmth of her fingers left him, and she turned.  Her message was obvious.  _It's time to go.  Neo suddenly he realised why he often felt colder in the Matrix than in the Real World. _

And when he pulled on his own glasses, they were a shield.

A/N:  There's probably more Christian imagery in this than I would have liked, I didn't want to give one religion precedence over the other.  But being a Catholic, that's what I know best and so what I feel more confident to write about.  Yeah.  Religious allusions.  Was probably not the best thing to base this chapter on.  Contentious, eh?  


	4. Milk and Honey

"**One" Part IV:  ****Milk and Honey**

A/N:  Set during The Matrix Reloaded.  

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"They need you"

"I need _you"_

She had left him.  Alone, cornered.  His first instinct was to run, back into the elevator, to a floor where he wasn't expected, wasn't followed.  He needed sleep.  It was only exhaustion now that forced him to get a few brief hours of rest during the night.  But even more importantly, he needed _her._  But she had left him.

So he stayed, listening to them.  He imagined this was what a deer must feel like, caught in the headlights, before darkness descended.  Or in the forest,  surrounded by dozens of hunters, rifles cocked.

"Neo"

His name is savoured on their tongues, as if they are blessed just from saying it.  

"Neo, I have a brother still in the Matrix…"

"Teacher, what can I tell my daughter…"

"My father is sick, Rabbi…" 

He laid a hesitant palm on the forehead of a child, slowly drawing a circle with his thumb.  The gesture meant nothing, but it had become his routine "blessing" symbol and it seemed to satisfy the Zionites.  The mother thrust a glass jar into his hand gratefully – some kind of jam – a luxury.  He tried to refuse but he was cornered.  Sometimes he was successful in convincing him that he didn't need their offerings of blankets and food and alcohol, but he was always thwarted, as they left the gifts outside his door anyway.    

_Patience is a virtue, Neo, patience is a virtue.  _

It was near evening by the time he had finished with them.  He stretched, watching the last one toddle off home, before he started the long walk to his room.  Their room.  Trinity surely would be there by now, waiting for him.  

He passed Axel and Maggie in the hall and they nodded to him in a sign of recognition.  Neo ignored their smothered laughter as he rounded the corner.  It was all good-natured with the fleet, fingers and palms covering smiles whenever he was around.  

They thought he didn't know.  His silence was often construed by as stupidity or absent-mindedness.  And yes, there were moments when he tuned out his surroundings in an effort to be alone with his thoughts, but this did not mean he was completely oblivious.  He knew they called him 'Wonder-boy', 'Superman' and 'Hercules' behind his back.  Hell, Sparks called him them to his face.  It didn't really bother him.  Not that much, anyway.  Maybe a little.

A pillar became his refuge as Neo spotted Kid, wandering through the caverns, no doubt looking for him.  God, what he had been reduced to, cowering from a child in a bizarre game of hide and seek.    

Kid hadn't been the first Neo had unplugged, but he might as well have been with all the attention that was bestowed upon him.  Oh, Kid had been keen, he knew that much.  Neo had been found by him, not the other way around, that should have been his first clue.  But then, he always had been a little slow on the uptake.  

_There is some fiction in your truth_

_And some truth in your fiction_

Neo remembered chuckling at his own cleverness.  Oh, how he could draw them in, he had thought with a rare moment of self-confidence.  So far he'd had an impeccable unplugging record, ripping questioning minds out of the Matrix with fury.  __

_To know the truth, you must risk everything_

He saw in Kid aspects of himself that almost frightened him.  He thought perhaps that was why he avoided the boy so, other than the whole hero-worship thing.  At least in Zion he could escape to the comfort of his room, or lose the crowd in the caverns.  On the Neb there was nowhere to hide.  

Hiya, Neo, can I get you breakfast?  

Hey Neo, which is the best fighting style to use?

What's your favourite weapon?

When I'm trained, do I get to choose which ship I want to serve on?  

You look thirsty, Neo, can I get you some water?

Neo?  What's Zion like Neo?

Then there was that day in the mess hall.  He'd fled from his and Trinity's cabin, too haunted by visions to stand lying next to her.  He wasn't exactly in the best of moods to begin with, a run in with Kid was the last thing he needed.    

He was seated at the table, back to the door, eyes peering in disgust at his goop from under a woollen cap.  The fact that Kid was probably ready with an onslaught of questions wasn't what scared Neo.  It was the fact that five months ago, that had been him.  The image was a perfect reflection, right down to the bald head covered by rough navy.  Swallowing, Neo filled a bowl and took the seat opposite.  

Neo usually tended to consume his food rather than eat it.  Eating was never at the top of his list of priorities, anyway.  Usually Trinity had to remind him and even then, he only ate when she did.  It was a luxury he would not often afford himself, the satisfaction of silence made complete as his stomach's cries of hunger slowly died.

But again he was thwarted as the peace shattered.

"Are we going to train again today Neo?"

"Yeah Kid".  One spoonful.

"Can we try the Jump again?  I'm sure I'll get it this time, Neo"

"Yeah".  Another try.

"When are you going into the Matrix, Neo?"

"I don't know Kid"  Third attempt.

" Can I come with you this time, Neo?"

"No.  It's too dangerous".  He wished Kid would stop saying his name.  He knew it.  

"But not with you there, Neo.  I'll be alright with you there to protect me.  You-"

The sound of his spork hitting the table was harsh.  Frustrated.

"Look, Kid, I know you want to go into the Matrix and kill some bad guys, but it doesn't work that way.  You get hurt, you get shot.  And I can't always be there to babysit you.  Dammit, you need to grow up and learn that this isn't some videogame!"

He had stood, then, muscles tensed, and strode towards the door.  Kid's shoulders were slumped, head down in defeat.  He didn't care.  His hand was on the wheel when Kid spoke up, without moving his eyes from his bowl.  He spoke in a tone Neo had never heard from him.  With the absence of enthusiasm.     

"I…I'm going to make you proud, Neo.  I know you don't believe it, but I am going to be somebody.  I…I'm going to try".

Thousands of expletives ran through Neo's mind as guilt descended.  He couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy.  The eternal third-wheel.  

"I know, Kid", he stepped closer and gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder.  "I…I know".    

He had left the room, his food lying untouched on the table.  

Inwardly, Neo had fumed.  Nightmares or not, that did not give him the excuse to chastise the poor kid…he hadn't even done anything wrong.  Jesus, how much patience had Morpheus shown him?  After his failure in the Jump program, a warm hand had squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.  _It will come to you.  That time he had helped Dozer fix the generator and had earned the man a painful burn on the forearm.  Yet he had smiled, tolerated and joked about his clumsy fingers.  And Trinity – god Trinity – how she had endured his clumsy fingers in the beginning.  She had sat there, in the armchair in their Zion room – he'd been on the bed – and answered all his irrelevant questions.  She had never grown impatient, had never rejected any of his probing.          _

_You are not alone _

Hope was a dangerous thing to give to anyone.  It was hope that caused Kid to follow him around, that caused the Zionites to beg for his blessings, his words of wisdom.  Hope that allowed the Council to give Morpheus excessive amounts of leeway in the field, always giving his opinion more weight than even Lock's.  Hope was dangerous, he was learning, and one day his luck was going to run out.  Before long he was going to make a mistake and it might cost them everything.  He needed to talk to Trinity, he needed to tell her – 

And suddenly Neo was on the floor, having collided with a figure whose ability to hold his ground was far superior to his own.

"Whoa, watch it Wonderboy!"

Composing himself from his sprawl, Neo took the outstretched hand and was pulled to his feet.

"Hey Sparks".

Neo often wondered why whenever he was around Sparks he seemed to get hurt.  The last time they had met, a strong back-pat had sent him sprawling.  Maybe it was the fact that with Sparks Neo was constantly on edge, and therefore more susceptible to a physical onslaught.  Neo was almost sure Sparks didn't mean it.  Almost.

"You know, you gotta be more careful, J.C.  It's a long way down" he smirked, indicating the drop beyond the railing.  Neo preferred not to look.

"Not afraid of heights are you Hercules?  Or is it that you appear to have lost your entourage?"

Neo saw Sparks looking for any sign of Trinity, Morpheus or Link.  If any of them had accompanied him Sparks wouldn't be so crass.  Oh, Sparks was always ribbing him, but Neo knew he enjoyed it far more when it was just the two of them.  Then there was no one to talk back to him.  

"Link's gone home, Morpheus went to see Lock – "

"You mean Deadbolt"

"Yeah…The Commander wanted to speak to him.  And Trinity's…."

Sparks chuckled.  "Let me guess, the Queen of Hearts has abandoned you for a little…Eastern influence, am I right?"

Neo shifted, shuffling his feet and generally wishing to escape the conversation.  But there was nowhere to flee – Sparks was blocking the hallway.  He could go back the way he had come, but then he'd never get to his room.  

Unfortunately, Sparks seemed to revel in his discomfort.  This little run in had probably made his day.  "I wouldn't worry about it, man.  Ghost wouldn't know what to do with a women if he had written instructions.  The right hand is more his style, you know what I mean?"

Neo finally turned to meet Spark's gaze.  "I'm not worried".     

Apparently this was hilarious, because Sparks almost doubled over with laughter, resting his hands on his knees.  "You know what, Superman?  You're alright".  Still racked with laughter, threw an arm around Neo's shoulders.  Neo flinched, then relaxed slightly as he realised it wasn't an antagonistic move.  "Come have a drink with me before Temple", he invited.

Sparks always seemed to be inviting him someplace or another, out for a drink, dinner, a party.  Probably because Neo was his primary source of entertainment.  He remembered the time Sparks had drugged his drink, which resulted in a painful fall down the stairs of the bar.  He'd landed in the dirt in front of Roland and had vomited on his boots.  Roland, who hadn't liked him that much to begin with, had always given him the evil eye from then on.

"Why?" Neo answered, "So you can insult me some more?".

Sparks squeezed his shoulder, "Come on Wonderboy, you should be grateful for me.  At least I don't lick your boots like the rest of these sycophants".  Spark's breath confirmed to Neo that he had already begun the night's drinking.  "I'm the one keeping those fumbling feet firmly on the ground….come'on, do you want me to beg?".

Neo carefully extracted himself from Spark's half-embrace.  "Sorry, Sparks…maybe…some other time".

He needed to see Trinity, now.  Needed to pick up where they had left off in that elevator.  They had both been tired that week, far too tired to make love.  So they had waited.  Every anxious moment was in expectation of the next few hours.  He had walked briskly away, his cabin in sight now.  From behind he barely heard Spark's muttering; "There's not going to be another time".  

Neo increased his pace until he was almost sprinting, he didn't need to run into anyone else who would divert and distract him.  When he reached the red door, 301, it was a haven.  And Neo thanked a God he had never believed in that there was no one waiting outside.  Anticipation burned in his belly as he turned the wheel and flung himself into the room.

But it was empty.  

Shit.  She must still be at Ghost's, or wandering around in preparation for the Gathering.  Fine, he thought, as he pulled his boots off.  He would just sit here until she got back.  

One minute passed on the clock.  Neo knew because he had watched every second tick away.  Waiting while doing nothing was infinitely harder than waiting while distracted.  Another ten seconds.  Neo clenched and unclenched his fists, ran his fingers through his hair -  perhaps he should take a shower?  No.  In the state he was in thinking about Trinity might lead him down an unpleasant road.  

Neo sighed, cursed and moved to pull his boots back on.

He would go to their damn Gathering, stand in their damn Temple, and wait for her there.

Yes, he would go.  But he wouldn't like it.  It was only with the comfort of what would happen after the celebration that forced him out the door and towards the elevator.  As he descended to Zion's bottom level, Sparks' words kept running through his head.

There's not going to be another time.              


	5. Transcendence

"**One" Part V:  Transcendence**

A/N:  Set after the Matrix Revolutions.  Last chapter folks.  It's been fun.

*********************************************************************

_"Jesus drew near and said to them, 'I have been given all authority in Heaven and Earth…and I will be with you always, to the end of the age"_

- _Matthew 28:18-20_

_"From delusion lead me to truth/From darkness lead me to light/From death lead me to immortality"_

_ - Neodammerung_

*********************************************************************

Darkness.  Consuming, pulling at him, sucking him into the abyss.  He did not resist.  He had no reason to.  There was nothing to pull him back, nothing left for him back there.  She was gone, so nothing mattered.  

_One is the loneliest number…_

Peace, he had said when the machine asked what he wanted.  Peace.  Peace between man and machine, certainly, and an end to the war.  Understanding that it couldn't have happened any other way.  Neither side could win, not when they were so inextricably bound to one another.  _So we need machines and they need us.  _It seemed like an eternity since he had said those words.  Peace.  He wanted peace for himself as well.  That was all he wanted now.  The strength that had forced himself away from her lifeless body, when all he wanted to do was lie on the cold steel of the ship and join her, was now spent. 

_One is the loneliest number…_

He had no will.  No purpose.  _The purpose of life is to end_.  Smith's words echoed in his head.  No, not purpose…choice.  

He could fight on if he wanted to, claw his way back into life, cling onto his last shred of consciousness.  But what then?  Back to Zion?  Neo didn't think he could cope with any more death, save maybe his own.  Couldn't cope with the endless celebrations, followed by the bitter taste of reality that would come in the following years, adjusting to this new way of life.  Would not be able to bear telling Morpheus that while collectively they had won, he had failed.  He hadn't brought her back.  Struggling on meant a barren existence, a wasteland of years without her.  Blind and alone, he would stumble through the city a haunted man, incomplete and useless.  

_One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know_

Zion deserved the memory of a soldier who died for them, not a blind, hopeless shell of a man he was sure to become.  He felt he owed them that at least.  

He let the darkness take him.  Peace.

**************************************************

Light.  Unlike his first awakening on the Neb, this light was soft, gentle.  Neo pried open his eyes to see the sun.  A brilliant mixture of pinks and greens, yellows and oranges.  Dawn.  

This wasn't right.  He was meant to be dead.  Unless…Neo had never been religious, so the notion of heaven seemed quite perplexing…if that's what this was.  Wait…Code.  Shit.  He was back in the Matrix.  That was impossible.  Sitting up gingerly, he took in the surroundings.  He was sitting on a bench, saw a park, green grass, tress, children laughing on the nearby playground, joggers on a morning run.  At that moment, there was nothing he wanted to do more than cry.  It wasn't fair.  He was meant to be dead…wanted to be dead.  And now he was back here…once again imprisoned.  Head in hands, he willed the tears to come.  They didn't.  

Neo sat at the bench for hours, stoic and shocked, before deciding to explore, to find answers.  The irony of it all hit home.  Back in the Matrix, searching for answers.  The only thing he could discern is that the machines had put him here, but why?  It was only then he noticed the plaque on his bench; "In memory of Thomas Anderson".  Oh, great.  He wasn't sure whether it was a thoughtful tribute or a cruel joke, but he felt the distinct hand of the Oracle in all of this.

But how could he be in the Matrix unless he was plugged in?  The machines had disconnected him as soon as he was overwritten by Smith.  And if his consciousness lived on, did that mean Smith's did as well?  Had he failed after all?

His thoughts were interrupted by a blonde woman plonking herself down on the seat next to him.  She turned a tired head towards Neo and said forcefully; "Now don't you run off where I can't see you!".  What the fuck?  He then realised she wasn't looking at him, but rather through him.  Whipping around, he saw a small child nod her head before running off; "Okay Mom" she called over her shoulder.  

Neo waved his hand in front of the woman's face.  She didn't flinch.

This was certainly a new one.

Neo wandered around, talking to people, dancing around in front of them, he'd even tried stopping in front of a jogger, whose body simply passed right through him.  He hadn't tried that again.  Fantastic.  He was the goddamn invisible man.  

But he could still see code.  Could still change things.  Had almost scared a homeless man to death altering the features of a tree he was seated under.  He left the park after that.    

Wandering through the city, all Neo could see were memories.  There was Adam's Street Bridge.  The Metacortex building.  The phonebox where he had spoken to the machines.  _I'm going to hang up this phone, and then I'm going to show these people what you don't want them to see.  Watching the swarming masses throughout the square, Neo wondered whether he had achieved anything at all.  In the six months that had passed since he had made the call, the crowd had not changed.  Still hopelessly dependent, chained to the Matrix itself.    _

_Where we go from here, is a choice I leave to you._

He had been so sure then.  So certain that he knew the truth, knew how to bring down the machines.  He was merely a pawn, a tool, and any other parallel he could draw to an inanimate object.  

The crowd swarmed around him, people in business suits, nannies with chocolate-covered children, young girls with straight hair and dead eyes, men with briefcases and wrinkled hands.  Did they know what he had done for them?  How much he had given up for their freedom?  Soren, Maggie, Bane…Trinity….all sacrificed so they could go on living their pointless, ineffectual lives.  Yet they would never know how he stood in the rain, broken, and allowed Smith to take him.  How he ripped the virus out of each and every one of them in the sake of peace.  

The traffic lights changed to red.  Stop.  It's over.  Stop.  

Six months ago, Neo had taken flight from this very spot, lodging a powerful splinter in the minds of those paying attention.  Now he just walked away.          

It wasn't long before Neo ended up at his old apartment.  He climbed the stairs, still creaky – that hadn't changed – damn elevator still broken.  His former landlady struggled with her garbage, carrying it down the uncertain steps, grumbling.  She couldn't see him.  The hallway seemed endless, until he reached his old door.  101.  And although Neo knew that it was surely to be occupied, he couldn't resist taking one last look inside.  After all, he had nowhere else to go.  But to his surprise, the apartment was empty.  His computer was gone, of course, probably stolen or pawned or both.  But the apartment itself had not been lived in for some time.  No one wanted to live with a dead man, or perhaps he was the only shmuck dumb enough to pay or the rathole.  They would have assumed he was missing rather than dead.  No body would have been discovered, no trace of his existence at all, save for this room.  His bookshelf had been ransacked, the most expensive ones taken, the older, tattered ones remaining.  Tenderly he leafed through Baudrillard, ignoring the absence of his hacker stash. 

_…thus perhaps at stake has always been the murderous capacity of images: murderers of the real…but what if God himself can be simulated, that is to say, reduced to the signs which attest his existence? Then the whole system becomes weightless; it is no longer anything but a gigantic simulacrum: not unreal, but a simulacrum, never again exchanging for what is real… _

Back at the beginning.  Wonderful.  But Neo was too tired to fight on any longer.  No, he would lie here forever, spend eternity as he had spent most of his life.  Maybe later, if he had the energy, he would haunt some people.  Drop vases and shit like that.  Visit the Merovingian, if he had survived the reload, and beat the crap out of him.        

The familiar creak of the door jolted him from half-sleep.  He sat up to see the silhouetted figure step into the dim light.  The absolute last person he wanted to see but perhaps the only person who could give him any answers.  

The Oracle.

Her new shell still seemed alien, but eerily familiar.  Her black hair streaked with grey, the dangling ying-yang earrings, the dowdy clothes which looked like they belonged to somebody's grandmother, not the powerful program who had instigated, planned and carried out her elaborate plot.  He fought the urge to tell her to go away and leave him alone.  He had to know.   

No cigarette, he noticed.

"I gave up" she supplied, following his gaze to her empty hand.  

He stood up slowly, clasping his hands behind his back.  It was almost amusing that even after all that had happened, he still showed her that respect.     

"So what was all that about 'Everything that has a beginning, has an end?'".  He wasn't going to let her completely off the hook.

"Kiddo, haven't you learnt anything?"  The Oracle smiled.  "Nothing ends without beginning again.  Nothing dies without bringing about new life".

"You used me"

"I know, child, and I'm sorry.  I wish I could have told you the truth from the beginning, but it doesn't work that way.  What I did was for the greater good, I hope you can understand that"

He did understand.  Oh, he understood all too well.  But that didn't make him feel any better, lessen any of his pain.  He had to remind himself that so many lives had been saved.  No longer would Zion have to face the threat of constant annihilation, although the years ahead would not be easy.  Those who wanted to leave the Matrix would not be given any difficulties from agents, and those who wanted to stay could remain blissfully asleep.  If the machines kept their word.  Neo felt sure they would.  And for that, his life seemed a very small price to pay.  The machines had never lied to him.  Ironically, it was the Architect who had given him the truth, been the most straightforward with him.  _She is going to die and there is nothing you can do about it.  _No, he didn't want to think about Trinity.  He forced himself to speak.

"What happened to me?" 

"I told you before, Kiddo, some bits you lose, some bits you keep"

"Please, Oracle, can't you just give me a straight answer for once?  I think you owe me that"

"Oh, Kiddo, I owe you everything" she sighed.  "Physically and mentally, you're dead, but spiritually?  That's an entirely different matter.  Call it what you will, Heaven, Nirvana, Enlightenment, it all means the same thing.  Ascension"

He sank back onto the bed, elbows resting on his knees.  "I can't go back, can I?"

The Oracle smiled and spoke as if from rote.  "If you could, would you really want to?"

He sniffed, refusing to look up.  Her weight made a small dent in the bed sheets as she sat down beside him.  

"There is no black or white for you any more, Neo.  No good or evil.  There are many levels between this world and the other".  She brought her hand to his brow, forcing him to look up in what almost seemed like a mothering gesture.   "You can feel them, can't you?"

The Great Beyond.  It was calling to him, he could feel it now.  The depths of the unknown held voices and sights and powers he could not even imagine.  But…

"I know what you're thinking, kiddo.  You can always come back.  It won't be long before they start searching for people to unplug, and you'll see them again".

The Oracle patted him arm as she heaved herself into a sanding position.   "These old bones need some rest, child.  It's time to go".  

He followed her out into the hall, closing the door behind him.  Leaving all that behind, finally.

The Oracle walked him down the hall towards the elevator.  It was working now.  How fitting for a transitional device, Neo thought.  He'd always liked elevators.  

Suddenly, the Oracle pulled him in for a firm hug, patting his back affectionately.  "You were always my favourite, Neo", she said, and although her voice pattern didn't change he could feel the emotion behind her words.  Releasing him, and sizing him up for one last time, she smiled.  "You come visit me…I'll have a plate of cookies ready for you".  And for the first time, he smiled at her.  A genuine smile.  It wasn't in gratitude or thanks, but rather an acknowledgement.  He understood, finally.

Neo walked swiftly into the waiting doors of the elevator, but was momentarily halted by the sight of the button pad.  Which one was he supposed to push?  He turned a confused eye to the Oracle, even though he knew she wouldn't give him a direct answer.  But he heard her voice one last time as the doors closed.

"Hurry, Neo.  You don't want to keep her waiting"

And finally, he knew.


End file.
